


Put on the Damn Blanket

by sweetkidd



Category: True Detective
Genre: Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3110804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetkidd/pseuds/sweetkidd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marty says Rust looks like he's cold. Rust says he isn't. Marty calls bullshit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put on the Damn Blanket

Marty stares at Rust from across the way as he curls up on the couch. Every night is the same, Rust curling up on the couch and wrapping his arms around himself and burying himself deeper into the couch, searching for warmth. Yet every time Rust looked for warmth, he ended up shivering and his teeth chattering. Marty always hoped that the man would be smart enough to grab a blanket and wrap himself up, but every time Marty watched Rust curl up, the man wouldn’t move. This night though, Marty had gotten fed up with watching Rust freeze himself to death and said something.

“Would you put the damn blanket on?” Marty said sternly and all he got was a questioning stare from the other man.

“What?”

“Put on the damn blanket.” Rust simply shook his head.

“I’m not cold.”

“Rust, I can hear your teeth chattering from all the way over here. Put on the damn blanket.” Marty says, a bit more edge in his voice. But Rust does as he pleases and sure enough the man just goes back to hugging himself and digging deeper into the couch, as if he’s going to find a well of warmth somewhere in the couch. Marty huffs out of anger and sits up, his plush warm wool socks rubbing against the carpet. He walks over and looks down at the smaller man that’s all curled up on the couch before crossing his arms.

“Are you going to put the blanket on or am I going to have to wrap you in it myself?” Marty asks and Rust looks up at the man.

“I’m not cold.”

“Bull. Shit.” Marty grabs the blanket hanging on the couch and proceeds to wrap Rust from head to toe in the thick wool blanket.

“Every damn day I see you freezing your ass off on this couch and you don’t even wrap yourself up. Aren’t you one of those ‘self-preservation’ freaks? You did grow up in Alaska didn’t you?” Marty asks and as he does so he looks down at Rust, all bundled up and no long shivering like one of those damn tiny dogs he sees girls with now.

“Guess the self-preservation thing doesn’t really work anymore.” Rust says softly before looking up at Marty. His hair is long and stretches out everywhere, a black and white tangled mess. Marty tries to brush it but it still gets tangles. Rust says often that he doesn’t care, but Marty loves running his fingers through it. Marty never once asked Rust to cut his hair, never asked him to get rid of the mustache that always scratched against against his cheek.

“Guess I’ll just have to be that instinct for you then.” Marty says in a soft voice before reaching out and brushing his fingers against Rust’s cheek. His face is freezing and it reminds Marty of that black hole of hopelessness and blood. The smell of earth and copper fills Marty’s nose and for a second, the briefest of seconds, Carcosa reaches out it’s bone claw hand and grasps at Marty’s heart. It digs into chest and takes hold. But rough calloused fingers reach out and caress his cheek, lips form his name and he Rust speaking to him from a far place and Marty sees blue eyes that are filled with worry.

“Marty. Marty come back, come back to me.” Words whispered over and over and Rust is thumbing his cheek with one hand and wrapping his hand around the back of Marty’s neck. Rust is pulling Marty in further, to the point where his back is aching, telling him to not bend any further, but the invitation of comfort is too much and Marty caves and falls onto the couch, pulling the burrito that is Rust on top of him. He’s welcomed by a weighty warmth and all the dark thoughts of Carcosa fades away as his fingers tangle in Rust’s hair. His lips press to Rust’s cracked pair and silence falls over the air. Nothing exists outside except that kiss and when they break away they’re catching their breath.

“You okay?” It’s a simple question, one that Marty can easily answer, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. Instead, he shakes his head, back and forth, not wanting to hear his voice crack. He rubs Rust’s cheek, let his fingers brush against the stubble that’s slowly growing. He kisses Rust again and holds him until Marty is ready to let go. Time passes unnoticed and when Marty looks over at the clock on top of the television it reads half past twelve. Honestly, they both should be asleep by now because they have work, but Marty could care less in this moment of just him and Rust.

“You okay?” Rust asks again, and this time Marty finds his voice in working shape.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” He buries his face into Rust’s cheek before planting small kisses there.

“Looks like I’ll have to be your sense of sanity.” Rust jokes, yet his tone is all but serious.

“With your fuckin’ visions, I think I’ll pass.” Marty chuckles and they both end up sleeping on the couch, wrapped up in a thick blanket with all the lights off and the television still on, shadows dancing on the wall behind them. Marty forgets about Carcosa and dreams about little girls laughing, about soft kisses from a long time ago. He dreams about car rides and the soft hums of approval from his partner, about fingers touching his face and the smell of smoke filling his nose. He dreams about Rust and how they’ll never be separated. Even in death, Marty will still be chasing after his partner with the words “Goddammit, Rust” on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've really written for Rust and Marty. So, yeah. First fic of mine of 2015. Woo!


End file.
